The Annals of Wolf: I Hate Life
by Ferrix
Summary: The brief excerpts of a disgruntled man.
1. Chapter 1

0500:It was cold, it was cramped, my stomach had definitely begun to digest itself, in short, it just plain... god... damn... horrible. I thought that getting on this stupid ship was hard enough. Now, I couldn't move, I had to take a piss, and I was so cold my dick must have looked somewhere in between a cocktail wiener and raisin.

Now, your all wondering, how did I get into miserable hell hole? Well, after my Wolfen ate shit (I'm not kidding either, I crashed into about a 100 tons of fecal matter. And of course, with my "shitty" ass luck, it was all fresh. I don't know what could have made that, nor do I want to know) I managed to hop on this cargo ship (or should I say flying piece of space junk. It looked like a box, flew like a box, and smelled like shit, or maybe it was just me, who cares?) Speaking of shit, Andross still owed me tons of back pay, but since Fox came, I didn't think he was in any condition to pay it.

Back at the hell hole, I sat in this disintegrating mass of garbage that Corneria used to haul all of the wealth of Venom. Now, it was my abominable, and hardly temporary enough, abode. Normally, I like to say I never have the time to look at the scenery, but today I had time alright. _Lots _of time, 14 _hours _of time, to be exact. You'll be surprised how long 14 hours is when you're stuck in a position some Yoga Master would call, HOLY CRAP! Ah, yes, the scenery. Through the cut out that the cheapskate Cornerians called a handle, I was able to see the most cruel of my tortures for the trip, a emblem featuring General Pepper's face. I was able to note every... single... detail of General Pepper's ugly mug. Around the four hour mark I had decided that he was probably the stupidest looking man... _ever_. He looked like a cross between a Maltese and a banana. I realize the ridiculousness of the hybrid but there was no other way to describe him. That had brought me another thing to place on my "to do" list. I had to find and kill the man who put... .

"OWW!"

Right at that moment, a fiery pain erupted on my right hand. I glanced down in the dimly lit interior of the container to find a gi-goddamn-antic orange bug with a stinger that must have been least an inch long imbedded into my hand. Instinctively, I would have crushed the little shit right away but considering my highly confined area, I had to work my left hand out from behind my head around my side and behind my back before it got my helpless right appendage again. Wriggling around I began to change from my, "HOLY CRAP," position into another called "DEAR GOD WHY," all the while, watching the insect waving his not so tiny antenna around. If I didn't know any better, I'da thought that the little prick was mocking me. In the good minute and a half it took to worm my left arm around my back the highly annoying pest wavered, it had begun to leave then comeback to wave its scorpion-like tail menacingly. As it poised itself for another strike at my index, I couldn't suppress myself from crying out.

"No!"

Its ten legs churned momentarily, turning it in a direction that faced away from my hand. A breath that was held trapped in my lungs burst forth in relief. Just then, it about-faced and took aim at my ring finger this time.

"No!"It began to turn around again.

"Yes!" It rotated around and marched directly toward my pinky.

"No!" It shifted its weight back and forth alternately taking itself offline and online from taking a swipe at my vulnerable extremity, "Yes! No,Yes, No!" This little bastard was playing mind-games with me. _Enough with this shit!_ I thought.

I wriggled frantically to position my other hand to kill it. " No, No, NO!" In slow motion I watched as it locked its "stinging reticle" onto my hand. Just in time, I drove my fist through the narrow space between my back and the wall of the steel container and directly into the bug, which squashed it flat with a satisfying crunch. In the process, I managed to sting the holy shit out my hand. "Dammit!" This was going to be a hell trip.

0730: 15 and a half hours, the box was finally starting to land, or crash, I couldn't tell by eruption of sounds emanating from the puttering, piece of shit warp drive. At this point, I really didn't care. Fifteen minutes later, it "touched" down with enough force to cause my head to ram into back of the container. Did it hurt? Yes it did, but not has much as when my head ricocheted off the back, slamming my nose into the front of the container and caused it to bleed, I cried. I know you're thinking, "You pussy, you're supposed to take everything like a man, not like some bitchy, 9 year old girl." Well, piss off. Being in 4'x4'x2' jail cell for 15 _hours _messes with your mind,especially when a bug from _hell _is your _only company_.

Back in Lucifer's domain, the cargo hatch opened with the likeness of a felled tree. Two men/wussies came into the cargo bay to offload their newly "liberated" treasure. First, they took the box with General Pepper's ugly mug imprinted on it. I would have thanked god, but the only way to get my hands together would be to shove them up my ass. Right about then, I realized the precariousness of my situation. If dipshit 1 and dipshit 2 (which will now be known as DS1 and DS2) try to pick up the cell I was in, not only would one blind me when it stuck its fat fingers in the holes, the other would violate me in ways I never dreamed of.

So I came up with a plan, if I planted my face firmly on the floor...like this...then... yeah. Well that solved that problem, but my ass was still in violation position, and the DS 1 and 2 were coming back. So, I did the only thing I could do in time. I thrusted my hip forward, jamming my already tangled tail a foot down my throat. It was then I realized that I tasted like a mix between lead and vomit.

Now, DS 1 and 2 lifted the box with the finesse of a grizzly bear trying to remove a Cheez-It from a styrofoam cooler, then began to drag my prison with about the alacrity of a Pigma on a tread mill . I swear to god, I wanted to get out, kick both their asses, then carry it my damn self. On top of that, they were having a conversion that would be on par with Beavis and Butthead.

"Hehe did you see that really hot girl outside?"

"Yeah, she has big boobs."

"Mhm heh, wouldn't it be cool if we score with her?"

"Uhuhuh, yeah, let's do that."

I wish I was kidding. They threw my cell down on the ground, jamming my tail even further into my throat, then promptly left to pitifully fail to try to hit on the girl. Did I know if they failed? No, but I know that idiots with the intelligence of Lincoln Logs _do not get women_. Wait, scratch that, _only_ idiots are able to get women.

Though finally able to burst out of my prison, I decided to wait to see if DS 1,2, or any others of their idiot family decided to show up. After about 15 minutes, I couldn't take it anymore. I shifted around, pushed the lid open with my back, and then began to wobbly put my meat footballs, which were formally my hands, on the edges of the cell. I swear to god, all my muscles had atrophied into slender threads. I took one step over the jail cell, and unbeknownst to me, my other foot had fallen fast asleep. I pulled my other leg over the edge and attempted to make a swift getaway. Boy, that was the shortest getaway ever. All of one step later my ankle turned to rubber causing a unexpected and entirely painful tumble to the ground. My nose bled again, my hands throbbed again...I hate life.

While immobilized by my faulty foot, I examined my surroundings. The steel hanger I was in looked pretty damn big. Like, 275'x275'x150' big. Various boxes were strewn about the place in no particular order. Looked like the DS family were as incompetent as they looked... or sounded in this case.

Feeling it was time to get my ass up, I took my sluggish leg and found it was able to move again, kind of. I managed to stand up. Feeling it, "Be a goo' time ta relieve mahself," I waltzed/stumbled my way over to the container and pissed about a gallon of urine all over General Pepper's shit-faced grin.I've never felt better after a piss in my... _entire life. _


	2. Chapter 2

After my long awaited relief, I worked my way around the disorganized trash heap that the ol' DS family managed to screw up. I looked over a pile of crates (that were stacked in the most impossible formation I'd ever seen. Modern artists would shit their pants.) and peered at a door. The rusted portal was about 8x5' with a door handle located inside a protruding pipe lodged into the door(?) and a shaft of light emanating from a window in the center. Seeing my freedom, I rounded the Vincent van Gogh inspired crate arrangement, dashed to the door, and found my hands were too damn big for the pipe.

Had I been any other person, I would have pussied out and tried to find another alley of retreat, but **I'm Wolf o'goddamn Donnell, and I'm not going to be beaten by a piece of shit door! **What did I do? I stuck my muzzle into the damn pipe, bit the door knob, almost chipped a few teeth in the process, and rotated my head to open the damn thing. Soon after I swung the newly named "DS door" open, I was blinded by the brightest fucking light ever. Jesus Christ, the gateway to heaven wasn't that bright. Trust me, I've seen it many times. (The last of which was right before crash landing in a giant pile of shit.) My eyes adjusted, and I realized that I wasn't outside. I was in a goddamn room. A room that I could only guess was lit by roughly a dozen supernovas. God, this place must kick out enough UV to cook chicken... at thirty yards.

I squinted my eyes to get a look around, and found I was in a locker room. I scanned the room, 5 rows of 2x5' lockers stretched from one end, to the other leaving just enough room to get passed them. I chose a random locker, opened it up (this is grade A security, folks), then grabbed a hanging worker's uniform. I immediately dropped it. Why, do you ask? That's because the thing gave off a toxic odor that could only be labeled as a Level 4 Bio-Hazard. Damn, that thing could kill maggots.

Reluctantly, I picked up the calamity, then put it over my clothes (Like hell I was going to wear this til I got new attire.) I read the name tag, Polenshich. That was the dumbest name I have ever heard. I swear, parents that name their child Polenshich should be beaten with their own limbs. I was in no mood to be called Poleinshit, so I just ripped the damn tag off.

Now in _proper _DS attire, I began to look for the _real _way out. After a few moments, a brightly lit "EXIT" sign marked my passage to freedom. I walked through the aisles to the afore mentioned gateway, grabbed the door handle, turned it, then got interrupted by a screech that damn near made my ear drums rupture. Frantically, I looked around for the source, then looked directly in front of me to a sign written in giant frickin' red letters, "EMERGENCY EXIT, DUMBASS!" Okay, I added in the last part, but I deserved it. That was one of the rookiest mistakes anyone could possibly make, tunnel vision. Here I am in the middle of a frickin' hostile territory and I have the utter brilliance to open a friggin' emergency exit. And did I learn my lesson? Hell no! I went and committed rookiest mistake number two... panic! In my panic, I just burst through the door... to find the entire Dipshit Family running in circles like chickens with their head in their asses. Maybe activating the emergency alarm was a_ good_ thing after all. What do you know? Luck is not usually my friend... but today it was.

I scanned the area. Large shipping containers, giant fusion powered trucks, loading and unloading stations. Yep, this was the shipping sector. I started toward with the trucks when... _Smack! _I was thrown to the ground by a beer bellied hick that, apparently, didn't understand the concept of going _around_someone. Instead, he decided to use all the kinetic energy of his fat ass to propel my body to the ground. Then, just to add injury to the insult, the fat bastard stepped on my freakin' hand. **_I truly...deeply...hate...life. _**

Pulling my self off the ground, I double checked my surroundings. Good news, most of the area had been vacated in the ensuing chaos, leaving me free reign. Bad News, MY GODDAMN HAND HURT LIKE A BITCH! I grabbed the throbbing appendage and tried to massage out the pain. After most of the agony had abated, my eyes turned toward the trucks.

My first thought was to just take one and drive it through the garage door. Then, the consequences of such actions ran through my mind. This pretty much gave the following scenarios: 1.I drive out, the guards see me, then slag my ass as use it as phallus warmer. 2. If there were no guards, I still would have no idea where the hell I was going. I would wander around aimlessly until someone got suspicious, stopped me, find out I don't work here, then hit the dipshit alarm _then _the guards would slag my ass as use it as phallus warmer. Well, I guess I was just going to have to scout the area first.

I strolled out an entryway to the outside world. Corneria looked exactly like I remembered it, a shit hole. Solar pulsated it's bright light from the heavens, the smell of pungent dew trees still lingered from the morning, and small creatures emanated noises from places unknown. This place sucks ass. Looking to get out of here as soon as possible, I examined the proximity. Several warehouses, similar to the one I was in, laid parallel across from each other. At the end of the long stretch of plunderhouses, there was a station manned by two guards. The two guards were packing heat in the form of SR-275 turrets. Why in the hell would they have SR-275s? SR-275s are made to shoot goddamn fighters out of the sky and take out landmasters, not guard some fucktards with the IQ of a mud brick.

I opted to go back inside, feeling it best that I remained unnoticedNow, I _really _didn't want to deal with the _unbelievably _overgunned guards at the checkpoint. When I entered the door that was previously my exit, I found that the workers had began to, wearily, come out of where ever the hell they went. Knowing I would be questioned if I was just meandering about, I walked with a stride of purpose to the first hallway I saw. Trust me, no will _ever_ question you when you're walking like you have to get someplace _in a goddamn_ _hurry._ I pushed past the people in my way, some even giving me the one finger salute, as I went to god knows where.

As I strode down the hall, I scanned the room plaques as I went. I swept through the first hall, made a left just to barge over a bureaucratic gopher, sending the large load of probably useless documentation she was carrying flying. Without stopping or even looking twice at the catastrophe I caused, Ileft the screeching rodent behind me as I continued looking for the door I sought. One right turn and down a hall later I found it, I threw open the mahogany door to find myself in the "Identification Manufacturing Room". I looked about the room at several photocopy machines, cameras and a wide eyed avian receptionist with thick glasses. She looked up at me the through the bifocals, her eyes magnified comically by her prescription, which, combined with her ridiculously large beak gave her an oddly fish-like look. How ironic for an avian. I swear I could actually _see_ the rods on her retina with those puppies on.

"May I help you?" She asked in the usual monotone. God damn... when will these people get tired of fitting into stereotypes?

I approached her with one of my "I'm-In-A-Bad-Mood-Just-Give-Me-What-I-Want-Dammit" expressions and replied, "I just got hired here _and_ according to the two "not so gentle"-men at the gate that gave me something _just_ shy of an upper intestinal tract inspection using sandpaper for lubricant before letting me _in_... that I need, 'proper identification.' "

She squinted her eyes at me a moment a shuffled a few papers on the desk in front of her,"I don't have a notification for a new employee..."

It occurred to me that she was probably just pretending to look.

"Ok," I interjected as rudely as I could manage, "I'll just tell my boss and my proctologist that I couldn't get a damn ID because someone, not to mention any names," I glanced at her name tag, "_Ginger... Stiltswimmer... _won't let me get one because she needs some goddamn notification about every tiny aspect of her job before she can _do_ anything!"

That certainly set a fire under her ass when it penetrated her tiny bird brain. "Okay! I'll get you one," she mumbled as she hurriedly began preparations. Wow, my boss must be a _real_ dick.

"That's better," I replied in my usual Wolfish tone.

"Okay, I need your first and last name."

I knew this was coming, "Albert Smith."

"Occupation?"

"...Shipping..." I replied, pretending to be irritated that she'd ask such a stupid question.

She gave me a look of undisguised annoyance, "Date of birth?"

Since it wouldn't matter, I simply gave my real birth date, which also solved the problem of sounding genuine, "7-9-53."

"Go stand in front of the camera, Mr. Smith."

I walked over to the camera, stood in front of the modular photo unit, and gave my usual "Yay-I'm-Going-To-Work!" face, complete with a blank stare, straight mouth, and an outright pissed off expression. After the temporary blinding flash, the photocopying machines went to work, spitting out a DS ID card within five seconds. Cornerian medical technology is _way _behind, _why_? Oh yeah, because their scientists were busy working on _five second DS ID printers_! God I hate this planet!

The bitch grabbed the card and handed it over to me. "There you go, Mr. Smith," She droned with a resentful sigh. She definitely didn't like me, welcome to the club.

"Alright, and one more thing..."

"What now?" She replied with a borderline bored/angry look.

"Where do I get my first assignment?" I queried with an impish grin.

Now she just wanted to get rid of me, "Issuing department, to your right."

On my out, I couldn't help but needle her once more. "Thanks, four eyes," I quipped with a smirk followed by harsh lupine laughter.

I could hear her muttered, "asshole" as I left. As I made my way back to the shipyard, it dawned on me that perhaps her loathing was partly because of how bad I smelled.

Using my new directions, I rounded Gopher Hill, walked about four steps and found my destination. "ISSUING DEPARTMENT" was inscribed on a plaque located to the right of the giant entryway. I threw open the door, noticed a fat, balding, middle-aged feline sitting at a desk devouring what appeared to be the remains of a jelly doughnut. I waltzed up and oh so politely asked, "I need a job, _now._"

With the inertia of light particles his attention was torn away from his horribly mangled pastry and placed on me, "Oh, alright," he began to sift through a file cabinet, pulling out some papers. I was beginning to wonder why in the goddamn hell did they need all this bullshit paperwork when he pulled a single sheet out and handed it to me, "Here you go."

Well, that was easy, why couldn't Bird Brain be that way?

"Thanks."

I walked out, keeping one of my Wolfish affronts to myself because Ball-Bearinghead was so expedient. I utilized the time it took to walk back to the truck to glance over the papers.

_Shipping destination: Corneria City_.

_Truck number:1564_

_Dock num... blahblahblahblah_

It seemed pretty DS proof. Judging by the help that was dragging their knuckles around here it was with good reason. I strolled into the cargo area. Sure enough, the DS proofing was not limited to the paper work. I looked directly at a truck with a giant, white, "1564" painted on the back of it. I walked past the truck's "wide load" and looked in the window. The keys were already locked in the ignition. This is the most idiot proof place, _ever._ I opened the unlocked door andsat downin the hardest seat my ass had ever had the displeasure of planting itself. I've sat in interrogation chambersthat were more comfortable than this. I looked for the ignition, and switched it on; the reactor hummed to life. Piece of cake. I glanced up to see a profoundly stupid looking man waving his hand at me from along side of the truck. Once I had eye contact, he nodded his gape-mouthed head then pointed his thumb upwardI wanted to respond with a different digit, but wound up just nodded my head in return. He turned and ran off. The garage door opened a few seconds later.

I never want to be a truck driver. You want to know why? Because they are _frickin' impossible _to steer. I inched forward, trying my best to navigate this huge ass mechanical abomination through an opening that was reminiscent of General Pepper's ass... too tight to squeeze a pin through. After about 30 seconds of this, I just went like a bat out of hell. I couldn't afford looking too much like a newbie. Did I make it? Of course I did, I'm **Wolf o'goddamn Donnell**, how dare you question my ability? That being said, I almost took out the entire wall of the warehouse on my way out. How close did I come to the wall? Well, there is less than an inch close and then there is half the width of a quark close. I was much nearer the latter. A DS passer-by started to laugh at me from outside the building. It took every fiber of my being not to just gun it and run the shit head over and end his pathetic little life but that wouldn't go over to well with the SR-275 turrets now would it? I drove down the stretch of road to the checkpoint. As I approached, the two SR-toogoddamnhuges rotated their muzzles around to fix themselves on my truck. The damn things gave me shivers just _thinking _about what would happen if I got nailed by 'em.

I pulled up to a booth, strategically placed so if anything went down, both the turrets only had to fire from five feet or less before impact. Even DS's couldn't miss from that range. In that case I'd be caught in the middle of a mag-freakin'-nificent fireball that I could imagine would vaporize my wolfish ass (and the rest of the truck) so I could rain down to fertilize the landscape.

A very scrawny and ridiculously misfit guard in a pseudo-military uniform peered out of the booth.

"You've got the paps?"

Assuming the jackass meant the paperwork, I handed over the sheet given to me by Mr. Billiardball. He snatched it away, scanned it for about the same amount of time it'd take me to... say... blink, then handed it back. Then he left.

Oh shit, I thought, he's probably going to try to verify it, find out I'm not a proud DS employee, then properly slag my ass via high energy plasma. Then I remembered, this is DS central I'm talking about, this guy probably couldn't even read and had to bring it to someone else.

At that moment, I noticed both of the guards manning the proverbial ball busters muttering amongst themselves. Then I really started to worry, so I _slowly_ cracked open my door. If any shit was about to go wrong, I wanted to bail, _fast._ After few excruciatingly _long _moments, Stick Boy came back.

"Go on through."

I felt so relieved I could have wet my pants, had I not already drained myself on General Pepper's ugly visage. I finally drove past the death trap and had my first fear free moment. Wait! Before I could get too comfortable, I did something I knew I had to do. I slowed, opened the window to poked my head outside and waved goodbye. Minus a few fingers of course...


	3. Chapter 3

Day 2, 1500: Just to let you know, I did drive the truck, right off a cliff. After looting what I could, since most of it was shit I only got about 40 bucks and picture of some dipshit, I set the bastard into drive and watched it blast through the divider and go sailing into the canyon below. That will leave the DSers in a panic and leave a whole shit load of paper work for four eyes and cue ball. God, I kick ass. But that was in the back of my mind now. Why? Because I was _fucking hungry._

I managed to hitch a ride from some smelly, shit-for-brains, asswipe heifer named John Wandy. How did I know his name was John Wandy? Because he said it _over and over again._ Not only did he say his name a billion times, he also talked about his fat whore wife, Brenda. Of course, that's all I could find out, because he talked in a language I would call "Incoherent rapid-fire Hick Cornerian."

"Weeeell Me and Brendablahblahblahblah," He would start.

"Whatever," I would reply, just listening and waiting for my stomach to finally attack my other organs for sustenance.

Once Captain Dildo reached the entrance to Cornerian City, he tried, I guess, say goodbye.

"Bladeblablablah!" He blubbered as he waved.

"What? I can't hear you, your horrible hick accent is in the way." I said with a smirk on my face.

Finally understanding my reply, he just drove away with oh-my-god-he-just-made-fun-of-me look on his face. I couldn't care less, right now I needed food, fast. I went through the neon lit sign and walked into a crowded avenue, the streets hustling and bustling with a bunch of dumbass tourists dragging their snot nosed little hellions behind them, going from one retail outlet to the next, fueling their corporate masters with more cash to feed their, decadent, money grubbing bank accounts… **I **_**hate **_**this planet. **A orange haired feline walked by me and threw a half-eaten hamburger into the trash can next to me. Seeing a perfectly good saliva-ridden meal going to waste, and the fact that my stomach was going to implode if I didn't eat, made me go diving in. Maneuvering my hands through the waste, I managed to get a hold the burger. After securing my grip, I worked my way out the trash bin, only to be met by my orange friend. He gave a wide-eyed look, staring directly at a banana peel stuck firmly to my face after my less than stealthy infiltration of the trash receptacle.

"What are you looking at, cockbreath?" I said as I munched down on the hamburger. It tasted somewhat like a mix between a fish taco and used motor oil out of a Rolls Royce with severely blown rings. (Rings, hah, talk about antiquated.) All of fifteen seconds and a several stares later I had finished off the hamburger. Dear God, that stupid thing must have been made from sawdust and axle lube, judging by how greasy and how tough to chew it was . Oh well, as I always say, hunger is the best spice.

I finished my meal and made a more perceptive scan of my environment. For the most part, most of these brainless wonders seemed to be preparing for some party or celebration.

"Ohmigod, he gonna be comin' _here!"_ some raconic bimbo blurted out. She had the look that told me she had about as much brain power as my sock.

"I, like, can't believe it! He is sooo ceeuuute!" her equally retarded friend replied.

"I mean he's like...you know... coming here!" the racoon screamed then started giggling like the stupid shit she was. Stupidity like that is why Cornerians should be harvested and fed to things more productive, like bacteria. But that still left me wondering who this person could be, then, to my utter dismay, I looked up. My skin began to tighten, my hair stood on end, my fists began to clench, as I looked to a humongous billboard displaying Fox McCloud's ugly frickin' face. The bastard had the facial expression "Look, I'm an asswipe! Like me!" and held out his thumb, probably preparing to shove it up his ass.

It seemed no matter where I went, this bastard was there to mock me. Memories from Venom came rushing back. The little piss head was in my sights, the bastard couldn't shake me; all of his advanced Arwing technology meant precisely dick when I was on him. Then he did either the smartest thing or the dumbest thing a pilot has ever done. I'm willing to go with the latter. He did a series of pathetic "maneuvers" that succeeded in one thing, putting him on a direct line for a fucking building. Still, I stuck to his ass like stink on shit. Did the fucker try to pull up and over the building? Did he try to flip a bitch and slide in behind me? Hell no, the dumbass ACCELERATED. Seeing that I was flying at about 2000 miles per hour directly at a fucking building, I had to bail or eat reinforced steel. He just flew toward the building like a moron. He was probably wondering why I pulled up when he clipped the fucking thing. Which, needless to say, sent him into a spin. _Then, _he accidently fired a shot in whatever direction he was pointed in, in his pitiful effort to right himself from the spinwhich just so happened to be at the belly of my Wolfen. It knocked out my main thruster. I then preceded to do the classic move when you take a catastrophic hit, a nose dive straight to the ground.

Bullshit, complete bullshit.

So here I was, standing in Fox fawning central, staring at a billboard of the most overrated pilot of all time and these morons think they have an honest-to-god hero. To be honest, getting past the Venomian defenses is _not that hard. _Almost all of the ships that Andross had were piloted by an AI program that could have been made by falling asleep on a keyboard. In battle situations, I HAVE SEEN THESE THINGS TARGET EACH OTHER, IF YOU LOSE TO THEM YOU DESERVE TO DIE! The only reason Venom ever got a as far as they did was because they fought the Lylatian Wartime Defense Force, also known as, the Laughable Wannabe Dumb Fucks. These guys couldn't hold off an ant from assaulting their genitalia. How bad are they? Well, first off they only have a standing armada of 2,000 ships. I'm not shitting with you, folks.

"Yessery bob, tha' there man's a 'ero alrahght," A man interrupted my thoughts. I looked over at him. The arctic fox wore a cowboy hat(commence hatred), suspenders, blue jeans, and a shirt whose buttons appeared to be strained to the point of breaking by his beer laden gut.

"Tha' man saved us awll, yes he did." He muttered to himself. That's another reason I hate Fox, because of him, men like this were still alive.

He looked over at me, "Ya new 'round 'ere?"

"Yeah," I said, trying to avoid contact with this "gaucho" as much as possible.

"Weeell," He put his thumbs around his suspenders. "He..."

"Spare me the details, please," I interjected, fearing any long winded story telling from this man will force my brain to end its own suffering via explosion.

"If ya say so, weeell he saved us awll, everyun' o' us. Neaow wurr havin' a paraide in his 'onor real short laaike." Well, isn't _that _special. I might need to stake this one out. I want to see him one last time, for old time's sake. Speaking of which, a bunch of big amateur "rent-a-cop" security guards that don't know security from a hole in their ass, began to wave their hands stupidly. Apparently, it was a primitive way of telling the populace to get off of the street. I also noted that the populace must be just as troglodytic to understand the gesture. So I took to the curb and waited.

1630: Yay, parade time! The oversized gaudy floats made their way down at a pace of a snail in dire need of toilet. Genetically stupidified children gathered around me and began to rubbed their filth encrusted bodies all over me. Just before I broke into a psychotic episode of child homicide and mutilation, a bunch of hoots and hollers emanating from down the street revealed that Captain Jackass himself had finally arrived. Oh, I'd been waiting for this. I leaned over the makeshift railing to see CJ's Mode of Transportation. It was a blue convertible Vec, series 730. The sleek model and powerful motor and sporty engineering being horribly tainted by his presence. Oh, I hate him... on so many levels.

He finally came into view. What I really I mean is that I could finally see all 100 of his ugly exterior. He was clad in his para-military garb, a medal on his shirt and shit on his grin. Truly disgusting. But that wasn't all, he had all the rest of Star Cox with him. The greying wonder, the screeching tadpole, and the fuck-around falcon all standing with him, basking in the glory of over appreciative cock-mongers. The Falcon pointed out to the crowd and gave a grin that could only mean one thing, "I just guzzled some cock." For some stupid reason, this made the women scream. One even fainted and knocked me to the ground, landing on a crybaby brat beneath me. He writhed and screamed under my crushing weight. Oh, sweet bliss. Eventually a big burly feline shoved me off the little prick and tried to help him. The kid was still moving, damn.

I stood up and brushed myself off, only to find that the Vec had long since past.

1700: "Shit," I muttered under breath. I wanted him to scowl at him a little longer, perhaps even draw his attention, but NO I had to be knocked by some shallow vagina. Worked my way through the dispersing crowd and hit an alley way, trying to get out of there unnoticed.

It seemed the more I walked down there, the darker it got. Soon, only the light from a single moon lit the area. That's when I felt it, my tail's fur puffed out, tripling its diameter. That only meant one thing, something's defiantly not right and someone else is defiantly here. I looked up and only saw the silhouettes of railings and windows. I looked behind me and only saw the crowded street about a hundred feet behind me.

"What the hell!" I said out loud. As if to answer me, a sharp object pressed against my throat. this was not good, not good at all. I really did not want to die today. But, my thoughts were interrupted by the voice of my attacker.

"Your eye patch hugely inhibits your vision, it was pretty easy to work around." I knew this voice. Luckily for me, the owner of it wouldn't kill me. I hope.

"Piss off, Leon." I told the damn the chameleon. I heard a small chuckle and the knife ease off my throat. I rubbed it to make sure there were no marks from the jackass.

"No matter how many times I see it, your tail is fucking hilarious as hell when I see it like that." The cold blooded lizard said as he walked in front of me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw my tail fluffed up to about the same size as Pigma's flabby gut. I attempted to smash it down to normal size with my hands, for the most part succeeding.

" How the hell did you find me? Scratch that, how the hell did you get here?" I asked, finding that more important than his sly remark.

"Long story. Just come along if you want to hear it. I also want to hear how a screw up like you managed get off that hell hole." He replied. I hardly liked his tone. Only I'm allowed to talk like that, but something else concerned me at the moment. I noticed Leon's body had changed color to fit his environment, as chameleon's do, but the problem was his whole body had..changed...color. Oh God!

I threw my hands in front of my face. "GOD DAMMIT LEON!"


	4. Chapter 4

2200, Day 2:"You've got to be joking," Leon said with a chuckle.

"I kid you not. That was as enjoyable as having my genitalia ripped out with a lint roller." I responded, finally finishing my monolog of the events preceding the thought destroying, mangled mass of shit that was the parade.

We had, eventually, settled in a sleazy motel on the outskirts of CC. Leon and I managed to pool together enough money for the cheapest room available. That didn't leave much for the gender defying hookers at the entrance. Those things came running from the motel, their faces plastered with so much make-up that their sex was nearly impossible to determine. Leon finally chased them away by asking why so many men hung out around the motel. That got their tubes tied in a knot. For hookers, they did a pretty good job acting insulted. They stamped off in the direction of their "working positions", looking as angry as they possibly could under their thick, powdery coats . Leon gave me a puzzled glance. I think he was serious.

Speaking of Leon, I finally managed to pick him out a trench coat I stole from a department store. You know, its pretty damn easy to walk away with something when swarms of dumb, slack-jawed yokels ask even dumber employees questions like, "Is this made out a rayon or polyester?"

With a side glance, even I could tell it was good ol' fashioned cotton. The hopeless employee told him "Uhhhh, I think it's plastic," ...How do these people manage to survive? Scratch that, why don't I put them out of their misery?

_Anyway_, Leon and I had finally got to our room. The place was not quite as bad as I thought it would be. It was actually semi-clean. The power worked and there was even an old leather couch where Leon had just planted his scaly little arse.

"Weeell," the chameleon said, "Looks like I've been out done in the excitement department.

After I saw you get downed in that freak accident, (I _knew _it wasn't just I who knew it was an accident.) I ended up getting three bogies _in_ my ass."

"You mean two bogies in your ass." I interjected matter-of-factly.

"No, three. The frog actually abandoned pursuit of The Idiot to attack me," he said with a smile. We both knew who The Idiot was. The Idiot and Fatass had been signed on as a part of the contract with Andross. We thought that we might as well have a couple other members, since, it wouldn't hurt our salaries. Boy, did we regret it. The fatfuck couldn't keep his hands off an artery clogging substance for ten seconds, _even when he was flying_. As for the monkey, well, he couldn't fly his head out of his ass if you aimed him at the opening and locked his stick on straight and level. Leon began again with a small grunt.

"All three came after me in a ball vice. I used the ejector seat and got my ass out of there. After that, I took the first ship I could find and 'commandeered' it."

He pulled a knife from his pocket and waved it in front of his face.

"Then I set the piece of crap on auto-pilot."

It must have been the same model as the junker I 'flew' in.

"That's not all of it, is it?" I knew this guy. He always goes out with a bang.

"Okay, fine! I wanted it to be a surprise, you know," He reached over to the remote resting beside the bed and attempted to pick it up. A few moments, (and a good bit of effort later) he wrenched it free. The thing came off along with about a half inch of gum wads and other crap. I dared not guess at what they were. So much for the place being semi-clean. Leon held it gingerly, trying to touch it as little as possible while flipping on the in-wall monitor. All to soon, the image of a slick haired, shit in teeth reporter smiled at me from channel 550's **Xtreme** broadcast studio.

"...witnesses say the incident occurred as Reverend James was completing a sermon on, as he quotes, "God's retribution on sinners." Sadly, the good reverend did not survive the lightning strike." I seriously cried after that bit of news. Man, I haven't laughed that hard in a long_, long_, time. Even Leon chuckled at that little piece of irony. See, there _is_ such a thing as karma.

Leon interrupted my laughter, "Hey, hey, shut up! Here it is." He then did something that got my full attention; he sat up in a more erect fashion. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he sat up, big friggin' deal. You obviously don't know shit about chameleons, for Leon, this was considered a dynamic response.

"...and now, an update from the Lylatain Intelligence Center. (Now that's an oxymoron.) Taking you to the front is George Hammil, George." The screen panned over to an incompetent canine in a god-knows-how-many-dollar suit trying desperately to compose himself. Behind him, a large cloud of smoke billowed from a now unrecognizable structure of twisted steel and concrete. In the epicenter of the smoke, the remains of a Box Model, Shit Class, Dick Lugger transport ship appeared to be interspersed among the rubble of the building. Leon bursted out laughing and clapped his hands together; his skin turned a bright green.

"I am, the great Leon," He finished with a little spurt of joy.

"Dammit, Leon, shut up! I'm missing the **X-treme** report!" I dead panned. His skin returned to its normal tint as his elation faded.

"... yes, the authorities determined the accident occurred because of a malfunction in the navigation system,"

Leon smirked, "It was the navigation system, _really_."

"... reports say that the two pilots, three researchers, and fifteen ground crew were found dead. Fourteen others were injured. In other news..."

"Goddamn, Leon," I walked over and turned the monitor off(I sure as hell wasn't touching that remote), "I thought _I_ was clever driving that truck off the bridge."

"Yeah, I chuted out about 4 miles away after I programmed the auto pilot to land in the basement of the building. I also mapped out the nearest urban area before bailing."

That was all well and good, but I needed to find out a way to get the hell off this planet and to my safety deposit boxes on Zoness, "Well, since you always have the incredible ability to pull plans out of your ass, how are we going to get the hell out of here?"

"Well, let's see," He shifted around a bit. "We could very easily barter our way off this rock. But there is one other way."

"Spit it out, Jackass," After taking stock of the situation, I wasn't in the mood to play games.

"I know where they're taking our Wolfens."

"Why in the hell would they need our Wolfens?"

"No goddamn clue. _But_, I know they had a transporter for them and everything."

I was about to ask him how the hell he got all this info, but, he decided to answer my question before it even came out of my big, shit-talking, mouth, "I got it off of the two pilots I slagged before jetting out of there. They're taking them to some place called the F.R.S station."

"The Federation Rectum Stretcher? I've had that done to me plenty of times," I said with a smile, By that, I mean, I've been screwed by the Cornerian Government plenty of times.

Leon just gave me a cold stare, "Yeah, that's the place. Anyways, I know an old Venomian spy who, as you probably have already guessed with your superior intellect(damn straight), has been put on a _very_ long unemployment line. Throw some cash in his face and he'll bend over backwards and screw himself for us."

I liked the sound of that. Being the perfect person to find the equipment for jobs like these, I had already thought of the perfect person, "I got the gear. I have an old acquaintance, whom, I 'did a favor for' a long while back who owes me her ovaries and then some. Luckily for me, she has connections with arms dealers."

Leon gave me a questioning glance, "Old girlfriend?"

"No, a fifty year old bag of sagging skin, don't ask."

"I won't,"

Normally, I would have gone on with this for hours, but I was _fucking tired_. "I'm going to pass out on the roach motel," I pointed at the bed. "We can continue this _lovely conversation_, later."

"Suit yourself, pussy."

Day 3, 0900: Waking always goes in a cycle for me. First, I wake up. Then, I stare at an insignificant speck on a wall until I can finally motivate my ass to get up and do something. Today, that would be _very _different. I woke up as usual, but I felt something behind me that shouldn't be there. I glanced behind me to see a sleeping, scaly, face behind me. Covers, sheets, and pillows all went airborne as I threw myself off the bed. I landed on the heavily ground in a tangled heap.

A sleepy eye appeared over the side of the mattress, "What?"


	5. Chapter 5

0655:I hate waiting. Especially, when waiting in an ancient helicopter with LOUD ASS BLADES! The metal hull amplified the stupidly loud roar of the rotor with determined vengeance. I couldn't even hear myself think about how much I loathed it.

In a desperate attempt to keep sanity, I checked my Athleros R-675 for possible defects about 653 times, and now I'm simply content on bashing my head against the wall until I pass out. The R-675 is a very well made gun; it's fully automatic (which has both JHP and AP ammo), an X-tel thermal scope, and has been lightened to about 5 pounds... mag and all. Did I mention that the Cornerian equivalent FJ-60a weighs 16 pounds? No? Well it does! My body armor, on the other hand, was _much_ more cumbersome. It weighed in at whopping 30 pounds, but what it lacked in lightness, it made up for in sheer badassness. It was a Goch manufactured BPV complete with kevlar, knife plates, and some, "special modifications". I also wearing a Cornerian jumpsuit, worn simply to spawn confusion in the ranks of the mentally retarded. (READ: Cornerian Military) I also carried other standard crap: a Jackson hand-made combat knife, six Mark-4 frag grenades, a pair of Jenson 440 magnifiers, and enough ammo to take out half the population of Zoness. Where did I get all this gear? Why the saggy vagina, of course.

She, being the sandy crotch she was, didn't want to help me for "administrative" reasons.

"Wolf, I still don't know why the hell you need any of this. THE WAR IS OVER, you should be getting off the system, not chasing after some toy!" she said in a lecturing tone.

Well, I was definitely in no mood for this shit. She sat staring at me, trying to look sturdy among her innumerable folds of flab. She was weird though; she was a fox, but she had blue fur... fuck if I know. I'm not talking about some light blue either, I mean OCEAN blue. I picked her up out of an escape pod on the Katinan sea about 7 years back. Wow, seven years ago. That was back when I was in the KIFF (Katinan Interplanetary Fighter Force). What the hell was I thinking; getting into a underpaid, under appreciated, piss hole of job like that, I must have been insane. Anyways, all I could gather from this fox's past was that she lived on some god awful remote planet, and that she, "doesn't like to talk about it." What a bitch. Sadly, I still needed equipment, and I'll be damned if I was going to let this puddle of blue blubber stand between me and what I want.

"All right, Ruby(well that's an oxymoron), when I picked you up out of that pod, you were a big shivering, jaded husk of flesh," she narrowed her eyes which told me she remembered every last painful second of it. "I could have just dumped you on the beach and let you fend for yourself, _like I was supposed to,_ but..."

She didn't even bother to let me finish, "Alright, alright, I'll get you whatever you want. But I'm DONE after this, I'm tired of supporting your stupid obsessions," She said with a look of 'I'll do it despite I fucking hate it... and you.' She was only about 53, but she looked 73. The skin around her chin sagged about a half an inch off her face, the bags around her eyes drifted downwards to ground, and it seemed that only a paranormal force could possibly be keeping them from sliding completely off her eyeballs. It suited her.

"That's a good Ruby," I smirked

Composure stiffening, she looked me dead in the face, "Okay, now get the hell out," _There's_ the old, crotchety woman I know and love.

---

"Wolf! Get your ass moving! We're almost there!" a voice shouted from the cockpit. I looked up at Leon's face glaring at me from a small sliding door. Next to him was our pilot. Now this was the kind of man that would make me proud. He wore a cheap, alcohol stained wife-beater and jeans which were so frayed it resembled a fur coat which had been in a short scuffle with a lawn mower. He also wore a standard flight helmet with the words, "Fuck Everybody" etched on the back of it. ...A man after my own heart. Leon looked over to him,

"I want to be there by 0703 exactly! Got that!" Our pilot, masked by his superbly engraved helmet, only nodded. Well, we could only hitch a ride in this neanderthalic contraption via a well placed bribe, since there wasn't an man alive who would actually _give _us a chopper. Fine by me, means I didn't have to fly this damn thing home.

Leon got up from his seat and tossed his gun at me, which smacked me dead in the face.

"Goddamn it!" I yelled... meanwhile, the all too familiar taste of blood running down the back of my throat began to permeate my taste buds, "What the hell, Leon?"

"I'm going to go covert, that will just make me stand out," He replied as I got pelted with another piece of equipment. I knew what that meant.

"Oh no you fucking don't, Leon, I'm not carrying all of your shit again!" Leon continued tossing shit at me.

"I said no." He then busied himself with adjusting his parachute.

"So you're making me carry all this crap?" Leon looked over at me, "Il gve yu...," and the remnants of his sentence were garbled up by the reverberated noise of the helaloudcopter decelerating. I simply stared at him with a, "what-the-fuck-did-you-just-say," face.

"We can't get any closer without coming up on their radar," The pilot yelled from the cockpit. Leon wasted no time in removing himself from our "aircraft."

I screamed at his falling figure out the door, "I better get a drink from this, bitch!"

---

0705

We veered north to skirt their radar range and approached my jump point. My gelatinated legs struggled to lift my top heavy ass off the metal hull of the chopper. After a few moments, I waddled over to the exit like a recently buttfucked duck and tried my best to "dive" out of the chopper. I looked a overweight sports fan diving for a airborne cheetoh.

Jumping out of chopper wasn't too bad. I managed to put myself in a decent looking diving position and, more importantly, my parachute didn't fail. It wasn't until I began my descent that the shit hit the fan. Despite numerous assurances from Leon, there was a nasty crosswind which blew me **far** off course. How far? Let's say far enough to land _inside. The fucking. Base. _On top of that, all of this goddamn extra weight made steering my chute next to impossible. I frantically hauled on my left steering rudder as I watched a giant radio tower extending from the trees... coming closer and closer until I could see the rusted screws which held the damn thing together. Needless to say, the following event was not very fun.

The first part of my body to collide with the tower was, unfortunately, my face. Preceding the pain in my face was one I would like to call "reverberating balls". Once my skull impacted a large support column, the shock wave traveled through my body until it reached my balls. Once affected by the shock, both my balls swung in opposite directions, then swung back, using their kinetic energy to smash into each other.

The only good that came out of that was the pain in my balls made me forget how much my face hurt.

I was vaguely aware of my rest of my drop due to the pain. As a matter of fact, the only way I knew that I hit the ground was the jarring blow that sent my head to the dirt. Blood pouring out of my abused nose, I attempted to gauge where I was. It seemed, I landed in a small patch of cleared land. Something darted to and fro in front of my eyes, but I couldn't see what it was with my blurred vision. I rubbed my eyes, then looked again. The orange demon of my nightmares had appeared again. The bug from hell had returned again and was as pissed as ever. I tried to keep my face from becoming subject to its long, hypodermic needle of doom, but I was pinned by an unknown force. I hadn't got rid of my damn parachute, which was using wind power to drag my poor carcass even closer to its deadly appendage.

Quickly, I tried to reach my arm around my pile of high velocity projectile producing dischargers, but all that crap was severely decreasing my flexibility. And what I mean by decreasing my flexibility, was _I couldn't fucking bend my arm in any direction other than straight in front of me._ Unable to remove my parachute from the back, I grabbed the straps from the front and began to tear them off. By then the demonic decapod had already made its move. Luckily for me, el diablo did not have the brain power to know my head was the optimum region for making me a very ugly Wolf. Unluckily for me, it seemed to be smart enough to sting me in the only place on my shoulder that didn't have protection, the base of my neck.

The pain enraged me enough to be able to completely tear off my parachute. Now, being able devote my entire attention to the little orange bastard, I stood up to my full height, now towering over my tormentor. Perturbed by my new found height, the bug emitted a small shrill and began to skitter away on its ten microscopic legs.

"Oh no, you're not getting away." I said with a smirk while clutching my neck. Despite the rapid movement of its legs, it could summon the alacrity to overcome my thundering footsteps. Soon realizing that it could not outpace me, it attempted to bank right and find refuge beneath a near-by bush. Not on_ my_ fucking watch. I stomped my right foot its path. It tried to do a 180 but that mode of escape was soon blocked off by my left foot.

"No where to run now, my little orange friend." I whispered ever so quietly. I had never seen fear in an insect's eyes until that day. With a sound crunch, remnants of the bug's entrails spewed out in all directions under the sole of my steel-toed boot. While the orange and green resin begin to soak into the ground beneath it, a few of the remaining legs and antennae still quivered, futilely attempting to save the life which was quickly torn away from them. My life, on the other hand, is now much sweeter.

After gloating over my kill, I tried to gauge where the hell I was in this damn place. It seemed that all of the buildings headed in an eastward direction, meaning, I had landed near the very edge of the base. The comm tower, which I so stealthily smashed into, laid about 75 yards in front of me while all sorts of hangers and other unidentifiable buildings extended as far as I could see. Now, the original plan was that I would land at least a 1000 yards east of the perimeter of the base, then sneak in between patrols and enter the main research building to the northeast. Presumably, where are Wolfens are most likely to be kept. I am now west of the base._ Shit_.

Since this was already goatfucked anyway, I decided just to throw all of Leon's crap unceremoniously into a giant pile on the ground. I might end up having to fight all the way through this god forsaken place. Like hell I was going to do it with all this shit in tow. After throughly undressing, I darted over to the edge of the comm tower and peered around the corner to find...nothing. Nadda. Zip. The whole placed was completely deserted, the only sound was that of the wind winding through the passages of sheet metal and stucco storage shacks. In the distance, some very feint silhouettes began to appear in the sky. First one, then two, then a whole shit load. They were parachutes, all descending in a great big cluster down to an unseen point beyond the horizon. Hey! Leon did his homework.


End file.
